


Paradise Awaits

by Morston_Trash



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gay, Gay Cowboys, M/M, Slow Burn, morston
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morston_Trash/pseuds/Morston_Trash
Summary: Will Arthur ever forgive John? Will they ever be as close as they once were?
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Troubled Waters

The Dutch Van Der Lind gang- just the very mentioning of the group instilled fear and anger into the hearts of everyone in West Elizabeth. They were the most wanted outlaws in all of Western America. Led by two men by the names of Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews, their posse consisted of a myriad of degenerate thugs, murderers, thieves. The criminals were more than just the average robber, they were much more dangerous. Their blood lust knew no bounds, their ability to kill and deceive was immeasurable. Their prowess knew no bounds. No feat was too dangerous, no task impossible. Skilled at what they did, the group had been robbing banks and rich, all the while growing in size. The members were close, considering one another family. 

Dutch Van Der Linde's gang operated on a code of their own twisted morals. To live free, free of civilization and government like the animals they truly are. They were not afraid to kill and rob to get their desires. Luckily for the US government, they were among the last of a dying breed. The gang, as well as the other criminals that plagued Western America, were being hunted down to repent for what they had done. Unwillingly, of course, but the Pinkerton agents would stop at nothing to bring the monsters to justice. They would capture all of them. Dead or alive, they would be brought to justice. 

The chase had led up into the Grizzlies, a land of frozen mountains that most deemed uninhabitable. The entirety of the area consisted of icy forest, several feet of snow, the rocky mountain terrain, and the remains of failed attempts to habituate the inhospitable country. There, they had gotten caught in one of the common winter storms. The detectives had to retreat for fear of freezing to death in the snowstorm. They had lost the trail of the outlaws by the time the spring thaw had come around. Their efforts went to waste, they had to return to Blackwater empty-handed. Their craving for justice, their search for the mass of murderers, would have to wait. 

But what if, just what if, these murders were not the monsters that they thought? There was no doubt about the fact that they were thieves and murderers, but perhaps they were only human. Maybe they all make mistakes. The criminals they were chasing, perhaps they were just lost souls doing what they could to survive. 

Dutch and Hosea had a knack for picking up lost souls, grooming them into the ideal outlaw. Each had their own area in which they held expertise, but all were well-rounded tools at their disposal. Every member of the group contributed in some way, adding to the gang's value. Some charmed their way into riches while others preferred to pillage. Each job was carefully planned, almost always ensuring success for the band of outlaws. 

The members worked hard, each hoping that their efforts would eventually lead to a fresh start elsewhere. Some wanted to escape, to go somewhere completely new and start a family. Others just wanted to get away from civilization and live in peace. There were those that were happy with how things were, but they knew that wouldn't be the case forever. Nothing lasts forever. One such member was Arthur Morgan. 

Arthur joined the Dutch Van Der Linde gang when he was only a young man of fourteen years. He was wandering the streets as an orphan, alone and with nowhere to go. The leaders took pity on him, seeing an opportunity. Hosea educated the boy, teaching him how to read and write. Dutch taught him the fine art of charming. Together, the pair raised the orphan as if he was their own. In the end, the men created the most dangerous man in the entire gang. He was not the sharpest mind, but he was certainly the strongest as well as the best shot. His precise vision and sharp attention to detail when out in the field made him a dangerous opponent. 

The only man that could come close to the man was another one of Dutch's adopted children, John Marston. He was picked up by the band of misfits when he was 12 years old. Saved from being hanged for theft by some local farmers, the boy was brought into a life of murdering and robbing. He followed int the footsteps of the older boy, becoming the second most dangerous man in the gang. He was only marginally less intelligent than the older boy, his temper often overruled logic. 

Together, the men were Dutch's most trusted men. When a job required precision and power, they were his first choice. They were an unstoppable team. Arthur and John were like brothers, often together and sharing everything. No secrets were kept from the other. Their bond? Unbreakable. Their trust? Unshakable. That is until young Marston fled from the gang, leaving behind his pregnant lover and the only family he has ever known. 

A year later, John returned to the gang. Having realized he could not survive on his own, he returned to the men that raised him to ask for their forgiveness. Dutch and Hosea accepted him back with open arms. Arthur, on the other hand, was bitter that he had left them. Abigail, his pregnant lover, refused to take him back. The only thing she offered him was a role in their child's life. 

That was four years ago and her decision had held firm. The only ties that held them together were the gang and young Jack, their son. Many believed that Jack was not his child. Abigail had been a prostitute for the gang once, having slept with every male member of the group. Even John himself had a hard time believing it, but deep down he knew that the child was his. 

Even after all of those years, Arthur still had not quite forgiven the younger man. It had hurt him deeply to know that the dark-haired man had just packed up and left in the middle of the night. He was unsure of why it had hurt so much. All that he knew is that it had felt like a knife slashing through his heart. The pain was not one that he felt he would soon forget. 

John believed that Arthur would never forgive him. He knew that he should not have left, especially without telling Arthur. He had broken the man's trust by not being honest with how he felt. Instead, he had made the brash decision to leave everyone and everything behind. All because he was afraid, afraid of the consequences of his actions. He worked hard every day to repent for his mistakes. For the most part, it appeared that everyone had forgiven him. Everyone except for Arthur.


	2. Civilization at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur feels like a caged animal, so he decides to get out of camp for the day.

Arthur sat on his cot, enjoying the warm air. It was a welcome change after being trapped in the mountains for what had seemed like an eternity. The sun beating down on him had the tall man feeling slightly lazy today. It felt good. It was as if they could finally catch a breath after the mess back in Blackwater. He knew that it would not last forever. Arthur intended to use this opportunity to the fullest. 

The dirty blonde headed man pulled out his journal as well as the pencil he kept in his satchel. He began to sketch their latest camp. They were situated in a clearing on an overhang overlooking the Dakota River. Horseshoe Overlook, that's what Hosea had called the place. They were only a few miles south of the local population, a small ranching town by the name of Valentine. The majority of the locals consisted of poor farmers and ranchers just trying to make a living. 

The gang had yet to explore the new area, preferring to stay in camp for the time being. The band of outlaws had only been in the area for two weeks or so. They were trying to keep their heads down to avoid any more trouble. Arthur was curious, however. He wanted to take some time to explore their temporary home. Who knew when they would be moving onto the next spot, the next camp?

Returning his journal and pencil to his satchel, Arthur rose from his cot. He made his way over to the hitching post in which he had left his new horse. He was a beautiful animal, a Mahogany Bay Tennesse Walker. The man had never seen such a beautiful pattern on a horse. He had gotten the young stallion from the barn at what used to be Adler's Ranch. He had taken to calling him, Hennessy. Sure, it was an odd name for a horse but no more so than Old Boy or Brown Jack.

Upon arriving at the hitching post, Arthur gave Hennessy a quick rub down as well as an apple he had gotten from Pearson. He untied his steed before leading him away from the post. Mounting the animal, the man rode out of camp. As he was leaving, he ran into John, who was on watch duty. 

"Arthur," John greeted.

"John," Arthur replied with a nod. 

The large man rode out of camp and left behind a sense of being trapped. All of this open-air, it felt like he was finally free for the first time in months. The rolling hills that dotted the beautiful landscape fueled his eager eyes. He wanted to take in every sight there was to see. Arthur finally had a chance to get a look at something other than their camp and the other members of the gang. He followed the road down to the river, following it in the direction that he had heard Valentine would be in. He didn't desire to come into contact with anyone, he just wanted a change of scenery. 

As he rode along at a pleasantly slow walk, he caught a glimpse of a burned section of trees. There was barely more than a few charred trees and ash left. Arthur turned towards the burnt patch of land. He stopped short of the area and pulled out his journal once more. Pulling out his pencil, the tall man quickly depicted the spot in the leatherbound book. He retired his journal and his pencil to their proper place in his satchel. Continuing on his ride into Valentine, he immersed himself with every minute detail of the region around him.

The ride into Valentine was not a long one, however, Arthur's leisurely pace had made the journey approximately twice as long as it should have been. Not that he minded, of course. He enjoyed the time away from camp. He had not realized just how cooped up he had felt. It was freeing to be able to ride around without any particular worries.  
The man looked around the small town. There wasn't much to the area, but they had the essentials. The buildings were in a straight row along the main street. The town was worn down, the buildings were not in the best condition. It would have to do, though. They could certainly be in worse places right now, Blackwater, for example. The place was probably swarming with the law enforcement there. There was a no more dangerous place for the gang than West Elizabeth.  
"What a god damned mess..." Arthur huffed to himself. 

He still didn't know quite what had happened on that boat. All he knew is that Pinkertons had shown up way too quickly and it had gotten ugly fast. He had heard that there was a girl killed in the incident, Heidi something or another. He couldn't quite remember, not that he really cared enough to anyway. Arthur hadn't been there, he had no part in that botched robbery. Both Hosea and himself had tried to convince them not to do it. But Micah had gotten Dutch so riled up that he had refused to listen to reason.  
Now, look at where they had ended up. Sean and Mac were nowhere to be seen, they could be dead for all they knew. Jenny and Davey, rest their souls, had been shot and died while they were on the run. They had lost all of their money in Blackwater. To top it all off, they were the most wanted people in half of the country. The gang was on the run from the most persistent lawmen that they had ever encountered. Had they not lost them in the mountains because of the snowstorm, he was sure that they would have followed them even through that god awful snow. 

At least they were, for the most part, together. They were out of the snow; there was finally some space between themselves and the government agents that were hunting them down. The Dutch Van Der Linde gang could take a breather for the first time in months. It was certainly a welcome change in the hectic life of the outlaws.  
Arthur decided to explore the new town. He rode over to the hotel that sat across from the general store that the town provided. He dismounted and hitched his horse to the post provided. He gave the animal a pat on the shoulder. 

"I'll be back, boy," Arthur spoke to the horse, halfway believing he could understand his words. 

Hennessy stood there obediently, awaiting his owner's return. The man took this as a sign that he was okay to be left alone. He felt oddly protective over the horse. The Mahogany Bay was quite intelligent, especially for a horse. He couldn't shake the suspicion that the majestic creature was better behaved and smarter than half of the gang. He truly did live with a gang of animals sometimes. Especially Micah... He shook the thought from his head. He refused to allow the thought of that man to ruin his day of leisure and exploration.  
Arthur decided to hit the saloon first. He could use a drink after everything that they had encountered lately. Entering the worn down and dusty building, he approached the bar. It was full of day drinkers and one particularly loud and unpleasant old-timer. The man was screaming about 'back in his day'. The tall man did not care to listen to his stories so he instead turned his attention to the bartender. Flagging him down, he fished around in his pocket for fifty cents. 

"A whiskey, please," Arthur ordered, setting the change on the counter as payment. 

The man reached under the counter of the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey before pouring Arthur a shot. The dirty blonde headed man nodded as thanks. He took the shot and drained the small glass. He could feel the familiar, welcome burn as the whiskey went down his throat. The town wasn't much, but at least the alcohol wasn't half bad. It was seemingly what kept half of the locals around. 

Arthur stepped away from the bar. He wasn't quite ready to return to camp yet so he settled for hanging around the saloon for a while longer. The muscular man made his way to a table near the windows of the building. Sitting down, he once again brought out his journal and writing utensil. He began to draw the interior of the dark, dusty building. It wasn't much, but it made for a decent sketch. 

It didn't take long for the man to finish his drawing. At first, he had contemplated whether he would include the drunken old braggart but had decided to save him for a separate entry for another time. Right now, it was beginning to get late. Soon he would have to return to camp. But first, he would take a quick ride around the area. A final stretching of his wings for today, so to speak. 

Leaving the saloon, he made his way to where he had left Hennessy. There stood his horse, patiently waiting for him to return. As he approached, the horse turned his head towards him and let out a quiet whinny. Arthur smiled at the notion. This horse and the man would get along just fine.

"Hey, boy. I told you I'd be back," Arthur chuckled, reaching into his satchel to provide a treat for the beast. 

His hand was met with a small bag of sugar cubes. The tall man placed one in his hand before offering it to the animal. He eagerly accepted it, munching on the treat happily. The outlaw untied his horse from the hitching post before mounting his steed. He began his ride out of town. Following the main road, he rode onwards. Approaching the end of the street, he turned right. The road led past some houses as well as another saloon. What type of town had more than one bar? A miserable one, apparently. At the end of the road, there was a train station that he had passed was he had entered the town. The only difference was that he was taking a different route. 

Arthur continued to follow the road but made sure not to lose his sense of direction. The path led him up a hill that provided more than one way to travel, so he chose the path leading to the right. Onwards he traveled, leaving the small town of Valentine in the dust behind him. 

The ride was quiet, calm, not a soul in sight. Arthur enjoyed the peace of mind. He saw a blue hooded figure to the side of the road ahead of him. Curious, he rode over to the mysterious stranger. Said stranger turned out to be a blind old man. 

"A dollar for your future, a dollar for your fate..." The old man mumbled seemingly to himself. 

Arthur got down from Hennessy, approaching the man. He studied him, not quite sure what to think. He had never seen this man before, which was not surprising given that he had never been in this area before. The old man must have heard him approach because he turned his head towards him, staring ahead with a blank unseeing stare. 

"Help a blind man..." He said calmly. 

Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and retrieved about a dollar's worth of change. He dropped it down into the hat that lay at the old man's feet. The clinking of the change alerted the blind man that someone had decided to take pity on him. As if on cue, the man began to speak. 

"Your whole life sir, you have followed the wrong star," the man foretold. 

"Uh, okay. Thank you," Arthur responded, confused as to what that meant. 

Arthur remounted Hennessy before turning right once more to ride back in the direction of the camp. The man spoke in riddles. The dirty blonde decided to just ignore the 'fortune' as he had called it. He could hear the man mumbling to himself as he left. 

"They call old man Cassidy crazy... But I can see the truth..." The old man muttered to himself. 

Perhaps the man, Cassidy as he had called himself, was indeed crazy. It certainly appeared that way for Arthur. The sun began to sink, the sky turning from blue to pale pink and orange. He couldn't help but admire the beauty of the scenery around him. The green landscape, the setting sun, the occasional deer dotting the hills. It was all beautiful, one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Well, around this point in his life anyway. Then, a thought struck him. He should kill a deer for Pearson. That way the rotund man wouldn't give him grief for being gone all day with nothing to show for it.


	3. Boredom Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Marston is trapped in camp and horribly bored.

John stood at one of the two pathways leading into the camp. Bill was in charge of guarding the other. It was early, earlier than he would have liked anyway. But he had been trapped in bed for weeks, scarcely allowed to roll over in bed, let alone walk around. Ms. Grimshaw had kept him under strict orders to stay in bed until she felt he was healthy enough to get up. Today was finally the day she had decided he was in good enough condition to get back on his feet. It felt good to finally be out of that bed, out of the tent, back out in the fresh air. The crisp morning air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of his tent. Even if it did smell of horse shit, it was better than being trapped in that cloth prison. 

He clutched the rifle in his hands tightly. John searched the area with his eyes, scanning for anything that could be a threat to the gang. His search came up empty. He was satisfied with this, for now. John didn't want anyone to find them but he did miss the action. He missed the feel of his saddle and a horse betwixt his legs. He missed the adrenaline that coursed through his veins and the sounds of gunshots sounding in his ears. Most of all, John missed the feeling of being useful. He felt like a child, being confined to their camp for weeks on end. The young man just wanted to be out working again, providing for the gang. Sitting around all day did not suit him. 

The sound of a horse approaching brought him out of his thoughts. it was coming from behind him. Turning around, he looked to see who it was. His eyes were met with the sight of Arthur. The older man was riding down the hill. Arthur didn't seem to be paying attention to the younger male. The dirty blonde was heading towards the raven-haired man. The other man's horse was following the path in which John was stationed. 

"Arthur," John greeted as the older male approached him. 

"John," Arthur responded with a nod. 

Their conversation ended with that as the man rode away. The raven-haired man's eyes followed the other man, watching his every move. The tension between the pair was still high, neither desiring to speak to the other. John wanted to patch things up and to move on from it, but Arthur was still annoyed with him. Not that he could blame him, of course. It was kind of ridiculous to be bitter about something that transpired so long ago, but Arthur was not one to forgive and forget. Especially when something had hurt him so deeply. 

John sighed. He wished that they could move on from the past. It was a dumb mistake. He knew he was wrong to leave Abigail, to run from the gang because of his own carelessness. The speech had been given to him dozens of times. But everyone else had moved on from it. Everyone except Arthur. He shook his head to clear it, these thoughts could wait until later, when he wasn't on guard duty. 

The day ticked on slowly for John, each minute feeling more like an hour. It was dreadfully boring just standing there, but it was a necessary task. Someone had to keep watch over the camp in case Pinkertons were on their trail again. Before he knew it, it was noon and Javier came to his rescue. Javier was next on duty, relieving John. 

"It's all clear so far, been a slow day," John stated. 

"Alright, gracias hermano," the Mexican responded, waving him off. 

John waved back as he made his way back into camp. His stomach growled, informing him that it was time for something to eat. The male made his way towards Pearson's stew pot. Reaching downwards, he grabbed one of the metal dishes that laid on the ground. He ladled himself a serving of stew into his dish. 

The dark-haired man stepped towards one of the tables situated around the camp. He sat down before beginning to eat his meal. It was not much better than the watery broth they had survived on in the mountains, but it would suffice. He was hungry enough that he would have eaten just about anything, had it been put in front of him. John scarfed down the stew before standing up. He returned the dish to its spot beside the pot. The thin man huffed in boredom. The day was going by so slowly, he didn't know what he should do next. He was off duty and Ms. Grimshaw would scalp him if he left the camp. Were there any chores that needed to be done around the place? Surely there was, no one liked to do them. Looking around, he scanned the camp for the sight of the woman who ran the camp. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her. 

"Lazy sow! You can't just sit around and read all day! Pull your weight around this camp, no one else will pull it for you!" the older woman screeched. 

The sound of a slap echoed throughout the air. It sounded as if she had slapped the life out of Mary-Beth. No one dared interfere with her business, not even Dutch. She meant well, but she was a bitch about everything. Years of running with outlaws and raising the men that had been taken in had brought a hardness to her. The men feared her when she was in a bad mood, the women despised her. Not a soul in the camp was foolish enough to cross her. She would do whatever she had to do to keep the camp running. There had been times she had been forced to kill one of her girls for betraying them. It broke her heart, you could see it in her eyes, but she had done it without even a second of hesitation.   
John began to second thought his decision to approach her, she was clearly in a bad mood. He did not desire to become her next victim. Perhaps him offering to do some work around the camp would cheer her up? There was only one way to find out. 

"Well, here goes nothin'," he muttered to himself. 

The thin man carefully made his way towards where the screaming had come from. As he turned around the corner of Dutch's tent, he saw Mary-Beth sitting there with a torn article of clothing in her hands. There was a visible handprint across the right side of her face, beginning to bruise already. She was teary-eyed, obviously upset about the whole ordeal. John couldn't help but pity her. 

"Are you okay?" he whispered. 

"Y-yeah, I'm fine..." she sniffled. 

Poor girl, she wasn't cut out for this life. She was too soft. The only reason that she was still with the gang after all of this time was that she had nowhere else to go, no one to go to. Mary-Beth could easily find a husband, she was a very attractive young woman. However, the young brunette was head over heels in love with Arthur. He couldn't place it, but the thought brought a small pang to his heart. Why? The man couldn't stand him. This was not the time for this, he needed to focus on the task at hand; finding Ms. Grimshaw. 

"Say, do you know where she stalked off to?" John prodded. 

"She, uh, I think she went toward's Arthur's tent," Mary-Beth smiled sadly. 

"Thank you," he nodded before walking away. 

John carefully tread in the direction of Arthur's tent. He didn't see the woman he was searching for, but that didn't mean that she wasn't around. She was surprisingly stealthy for such a bitter old woman. He could hear her cursing under her breath. He wasn't ready for this, almost certain she would lash out at him next. 

"Here goes nothin..."

"Ms. Grimshaw? Ms. Grimshaw" John called. 

"What do you want?!," the angry woman called back. 

"Was there anything that you needed done today? Like any chores or... Somethin'," the man cringed. 

"Oh, well thank you. Could you hay the horses and chop some firewood?" she calmed down some, appearing pleased that someone was willing to help.

He nodded, turning around and walking away. Whew, he survived. Now, to get to work. First thing's first, he was going to hey the horses. After all of the hardships they had been through in the mountains, they deserved it. Making his way to the wagon on the far side of the camp, he approached where the hay was placed. John grabbed the pair of gloved that lay at the end of the wagon. 

Reaching down, he began to lift the bale of hay. He struggled slightly, not quite large enough to comfortably let it rest against his body. He began to walk towards the small cleared area that the horses stayed in. The horses were contentedly eating some of the grass and leaves that the foliage provided. The man snaked through the horses, slowly making his way to the rock in which he planned to place the bale next to. John sat the bale of hay down onto the ground. Drawing his knife from his side, he cut the twine that held the bale together. Pulling strongly, he removed the twine and tossed it aside. 

Satisfied, he turned back towards camp to go chop the firewood. He stepped forward but stopped once he felt something press against his back. Turning to face it, John was greeted by the nuzzle of his horse, Old Boy. He grinned a small smile while he stroked the snout of the large equine. It seemed like he wasn't the only one feeling trapped and bored here. He would have to take some time away so that they could both stretch their legs. 

"Hey boy," John whispered, his voice sounding rough. 

The animal nuzzled him again, a soft whinny sounding from his throat. For such a large horse, Old Boy was a gentle soul. He was happy with whatever John had in mind. The steed was reliable and strong, making him perfect for the irresponsible John Marston. He had a fair amount of stamina as well as speed, and he was healthy. There was not much more the man could ask for in a horse. 

Once John had finished petting his horse, he made his way to the chopping block. It was on the opposite side of their small camp, the walk not taking more than a moment. It wasn't much, but it wasn't the worst place that the group had ever stayed in. 

Once he had arrived at his destination, he immediately got to work. He lifted the axe away from the stump and placed the first log on the chopping block. Lifting the axe above his head, he brought it down upon the log. It effectively split the wood in half. It was satisfying to be productive again. The work wasn't much, but at least it was a start. Something to keep him busy for now.

After chopping wood for over an hour, John was finally done. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The man felt a sense of purpose at that moment like he was finally able to do something to help the gang. It wasn't some important task that was bringing in riches, but it was something. Soon enough, he would be able to get back out there and bring in money. He just needed to get past Ms. Grimshaw's hawk eyes. Not today, though. There wasn't enough time left in the day for him to do anything productive. Or was there? He could still take Old boy out for a ride. They both needed to get out of camp and stretch their legs. It was a risk, he was likely to get caught. A tinge of excitement ran through his body. It was decided, he was going to sneak out. 

None of the men would question him attempting to leave camp. He had been on duty this morning and they tried to avoid Ms. Grimshaw on her bad days. They wouldn't know he wasn't allowed to leave yet. The women, however, would be a different story. He hoped that none of them would be on guard duty. They would know the truth and keep him trapped in the camp. 

Sneaking away, he carefully made his way to the only blind spot in the camp. It was behind the wagon that some of the basic supplies were kept. It was on the far side of camp, surrounded by horses and plant life. There was a guard on the ridge nearby, but they posed no threat. They wouldn't see nor hear him so long as he was quiet. 

"Old Boy, Old Boy c' mere," John called. 

The horse looked up from the hay that he had been eating and happily walked towards his owner. The large horse approached slowly but steadily gained ground. Within a minute, he was next to the man that was tiny when compared to him. For such a large horse, he was such a big baby. 

John retrieved his saddle from the ground next to the hitching post that stood beside the wagon. Lifting the heavy leather seat, he placed it upon the horse's back. He fastened the buckles and straps quickly. The young man made sure to check them. He didn't want to attempt to mount the large animal only to fall due to an improperly secured saddle. Once he was sure it was safe, he placed his left foot into the stirrup before pulling himself up. This was it. He was finally back on his horse. Now all he had to do was get out of the camp. 

He began to ride towards the entrance, trying to stay out of sight. It seemed that everyone was either busy or napping, not a soul in sight. Perfect. John pushed forward, making his way to the entrance to see who was on guard. Javier was still where he had left him. At the other entrance sat Karen. He wouldn't be able to get past her, so he decided Javier's path was the best way to go. Old Boy moved forward, taking him down the pathway that the Mexican man guarded. 

John held his breath, hoping that the other man wouldn't think about the fact that he was leaving camp. To his relief, he didn't seem to notice. Continuing at his leisurely pace, he finally made his way out of the trees and onto a path. He decided to follow the road to see where it went. 

"Here does nothin'" He muttered reassuringly to himself. 

He had never been in this area before. He didn't know his way around. How hard could it be? It was an open space, there were roads he could follow. It wasn't quite the open plains he would have liked, but he would take anything he could get right now. The air was warm, the sun was shining, the birds were singing. It was nice to finally get out of camp. He pushed Old Boy forward, eager to look around. This was going to be a good ride, he could feel it.


	4. Shot In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John missing, Arthur sets out to find him.

Arthur had managed to kill a decent sized doe. It wasn't much, but it would keep everyone fed for a day or so. He had loaded the dead animal onto the back of his horse. Now, he was on his way back to the camp. Luckily for him, he had found the deer while he was on the way back. At the rate in which his luck was holding and his current speed, he would be back in camp before the sun had fully set. Pearson would likely have enough time to skin and strip the carcass of any edible meat. If not, then he would help the other man. 

Arthur had enjoyed his day so far. He's been able to get out of camp and explore the area. Now he had been able to provide the gang with their next meal. Overall, today had been a productive day. The light-haired man couldn't think of how the day could have been better. Amazing, that's the only term he could think of to define how he felt in that instant. Things were finally starting to return to normal, as unusual as their normal was. 

The ride back to camp was a short but peaceful one. The only sounds to be heard were the noises the wildlife made and the clot of hooves on the dirt pathway. With the setting sun on his side, he turned into the path leading to his temporary home. Tilly was the one on watch duty this time. She stood there with a rifle in her hands, watching for any possible threats to the gang. From the look of it, there hadn't been so much as a rabbit to cross her path since she had started her shift. The woman looked so bored. A yawn escaped from her lips as Arthur approached. 

"Stay alert, Tilly," the man called as he rode past. 

"Thank you, Arthur," she sarcastically responded. 

Arthur chuckled. He got a kick out of that girl, she was something else. What, he did not quite know. However, she was like family to him. She had been running with the gang of outlaws for years, ever since she was a young girl of fifteen or sixteen. She didn't fight or shoot often, but when she did, she was a worthy opponent. She didn't like the constant violence, so she tended to stay in camp or work less violent jobs in town. Her nose could sniff out a lead from the other side of any town, her feminine charm earning a false sense of security. The man was glad that she was on their said. 

Continuing on his way into camp, he moved Hennessy towards the hitching post. Arthur dismounted his horse, tying him to the hitching post. He made his way to the back of his horse so that he could remove the carcass. The muscular man removed the deer from the Mahogany Bay stallion. It was heavy, but it was no difficult task for the large man. Years of work had given him a strong set of arms to match his broad shoulders. Making his way to Pearson's work station, he dropped the animal onto the ground. 

"Good job Mister Morgan." Pearson congratulated.

"Make that into a fine stew," Arthur waved him off as he made his way to his tent. 

He sat down onto his cot. The man debated getting up for some of the stew that was currently prepared. His stomach was growling, but all that would be left of the stew was a few potato chunks and scraps of meat. Arthur decided against the stew, instead favoring a can of beans from his satchel. He removed his knife from the holster on his hip. He used the knife to open the can of beans. Returning the knife to its holster, he began to consume the beans. He didn't have a spoon handy, so he instead used the can as if it was a cup. Drinking down his beans, Arthur finished his meal. Almost on cue, a commotion began to make its way through the camp. 

"John? John! John Marston, where in the hell are you?" a female voice screamed. 

The voice belonged to none other than Abigail Roberts. The woman and Marston were no longer together, but she made a habit of knowing his whereabouts at all times. She was the nurse-maid assigned to the man when Ms. Grimshaw was unavailable. They both made sure that he kept his wounds clean, didn't mess with his stitches, and otherwise kept him in his tent for the last few weeks. 

Why he needed a nurse-maid was beyond him. The man was just that, a grown man. He could take care of himself without two women fussing over him. They treated him like a child. 

'Well, he does act like a child. Guess he deserves it,' Arthur thought to himself. He didn't dare say it and risk the chance of Abigail coming for him to help that fool once more. His hopes crumbled before his eyes as she stomped her way across the camp towards his tent. 

"Arthur, Arthur! Have you seen John?" The dark-haired woman asked him. 

"Not since this mornin', why?" Arthur responded truthfully. 

"He's gone. He's not in his tent, he's not in camp. I can't find the foolish man!" Abigail complained to the man. 

"I'm sure he's fine, Abigail. He is a grown man," Arthur attempted to reason.

"You know him, always getting into trouble! He isn't supposed to be out of camp yet; Ms. Grimshaw's orders." Abigail pleaded. 

The light-haired man sighed. There was no reasoning with this bull-headed woman. He didn't know why he had even tried to reason with her. Once the woman had made up her mind, there was no changing it. She is as stubborn as a mule and twice as mean. Her hot temper was often aimed at the missing man, screaming to the whole world of his short-comings. 

"When was the last time anyone saw 'em?"

"Oh, thank you, Arthur! Javier said he saw him leave while he was on duty. That was around two or three hours ago, no one's seen him since," Abigail gleamed.

Arthur shook his head, rising from his seat on his cot. Little John. Just when he thought he had caught a break, here he was getting himself into another bind for Arthur to save him from. It seemed that this was always how things went. John would get himself into some kind of trouble and then Arthur would show up to save the day. It was a tiring cycle. For some reason, though, he didn't seem to mind it. It annoyed him when John got himself into trouble. But, rescuing him made Arthur happy. It was unusual. He didn't know why he felt this way, but it was definitely unusual and unnatural. Who would enjoy rescuing that fool? 

"This fool..." Arthur mumbled, answering his own thought. 

The large man quickly made his way back to his horse. Untying him once more, he mounted the animal. He was in a hurry, he needed to find John before something else did. It was getting dark, soon it would be pitch-black out here. There was no telling what lurked in the dark in this region of the country. That moron, what was he thinking? 

He rode off in the direction in which John had last been seen. The man caught sight of the tracks left by John's horse. Following them, he began to track the missing young man. There were hoofprints of at least a dozen different horses dotting the trail. Morgan fought to keep his eyes focused on Old Boy's prints. It was difficult, but he managed to keep track of them. The man followed the trail. He hoped that he would be able to find John before it got too much darker, but it had been hours since anyone had seen him. Had it been any other traveler, their chances of being found would be slim. But in John's case, he had Arthur Morgan on his trail. The persistent man would find him and bring him home. 

"C'mon boy, let's get this fool an' bring 'em home," Arthur sighed, speaking to his horse. 

Arthur urged his steed onward. It was getting more and more difficult to see the trail as the sun sank lower in the sky. At the rate in which things were going, it would be impossible to find the other man. He was tempted to turn around, to go back to camp and wait until morning. But, his gut told him to keep searching. Instinct told the man that he should keep going, continue the search. 

This was a lot like the incident in the mountains. That time as well, John had been alone and disappeared. Abigail had begged him to search for the younger man at that time too. Why did she care about what happened to him? They had been separated for over four years now, he barely had any part in the kid's life, all he did was cause trouble. Wait, did she still have feelings for the god damned fool? Surely not, she wanted nothing to do with men. Instead, she focused on Jack.

Arthur felt a jealousy course through his veins. Why was he jealous? It's not like he felt anything for the other man. He was only doing this as a favor for his friend. Maybe he was jealous that the man had a child, despite him not wanting it? That couldn't be it. The light-haired man had a son at one point. He still missed Issac, more and more every day. He had been a good kid. Sadly, Arthur's life had caught up to the small boy. At least the family Arthur no longer had was safe from his decisions now. Arthur wasn't a religious man, but he hoped that if there was a heaven that his family was there and happy. 

His efforts in the search were getting him nowhere. It was too dark to see even a hint of the trail left by the younger man. He could barely see the path in front of him. Pulling out his lantern, he lit the light so that he could see. The light was able to provide a small amount of visibility to the area surrounding him. The man could catch a slight glimpse of the trail. He couldn't be sure that it was John, however, he felt it in his gut. They couldn't be that far away. He had been searching for over 2 hours. If he was anywhere in the surrounding plains, he would be able to hear Arthur if he screamed. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than nothing. 

"John! John Marston!" his voice echoed over the land. 

He awaited a reply, but couldn't hear one. God damn the fool. Why did he have to wander off? It wasn't that bad being in camp. A little boring sure, but not worthy of running off. He didn't run off on that boy again, did he? He would break his jaw if he did. 

"Martson!" Arthur yelled out again. 

Again, no answer. His voice wasn't loud enough to reach the man. Either he was farther than Arthur had estimated, or his voice was too hoarse to be heard from long distances. He was a large man but he didn't get very loud. The only time he raised his voice was for intimidating people. Even when he was angry, he rarely raised his voice. He preferred to keep a level head. It came in handy more than being a screaming fool, something that Marston would know nothing about. 

The other man's voice was raised quite often, usually being upset about something trivial or an argument with another gang member. He acted like a kid at times. At their ages, neither of them had time for the games that John played. They were too old for that. They both knew it. John, however, ignored it. John was an adult of 26. He should know better. Arthur wasn't getting any younger either. He was a man of 36. He was getting old. Despite this, he still enjoyed being there to rescue the younger. He'd never admit it, of course. 

"Damn fool!" Arthur whispered harshly. 

There was still no sign of the other male. Arthur was beginning to get angry. He had been frustrated at first, but his efforts being useless angered him. Among his anger, a seed of worry had begun to sprout. It was spring, the nights still growing cold. Did John have his camping gear with him? It would be better than wandering around the plains all night with nothing else. He was exhausted, frustrated, and worried. The trail had gone cold. John was out of hearing range. He almost wanted to shoot the dark-haired idiot. 

Wait, gunshots! If the other man couldn't hear his voice, maybe he'd be able to hear Arthur's pistol being fired. It was a shot in the dark, literally and figuratively. The man didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a shot. Or three. If this worked, he wouldn't know whether to be excited or angry. 

Drawing his revolver from the holster on his hip, he aimed it upwards towards the night sky. His finger pressed against the trigger. It itched to pull it, but he held himself firm. First, he would calm himself. Taking deep breaths, he slowly exhaled. It was a trick Dutch had taught him when he was a boy. It was to help you keep your head in stressful situations. One slow breath, one even slower exhale. He kept his breathing steady and calm. Within seconds, he was already calm once more. 

"You'd better hear this, Marston" Arthur grumbled, pulling the trigger of the weapon. 

He allowed his arm to fall, resting it against his thigh. The man strained his ears. He didn't want to miss even one sound. Especially any that could pass as a gunshot. The seconds ticked by, but they felt like minutes. Yet again, no response. The light-haired man's heart sank. Either John had gotten way further than Arthur thought possible in the time frame, or something had happened to him. Neither possibility was favorable. In both situations, Arthur had failed. He had been unable to find the other man. 

Arthur dismounted Hennessy. He was pissed at John, at himself. He let not only John down, but Abigail and Jack. That thought stung. He had been unable to find the boy's father. The man was like his brother, yet he hadn't found him. The man knelt down to the ground. His hat tipped forward on his head as he looked at the ground. Pounding his left fist into the ground, Arthur huffed. He was having trouble keeping his cool. Anyone would be upset in a situation like this, but the man hated feeling like this. He hated feeling vulnerable. After Mary had shattered his heart and then losing his family, he had vowed to be as hard and cold as stone. But here he was, pissed at himself and feeling like a failure. 

A gunshot rang through the air, yanking Arthur out of his thoughts. Was it...? Could it be...? He wasn't sure. It had been several minutes since he had fired his weapon. Maybe someone was out hunting, or maybe someone was robbing. But another shot was fired.

It was coming from the plains North from where he was now situated. The shot was a ways off, perhaps miles from where he was. Was it worth the risk? Was it worth the trip? There was only one way to be sure. Arthur quickly remounted his horse and raced off in the direction of the gunshot.


	5. A Fool's Gold PT 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is lost somewhere in New Hanover with no way of finding his way back home.

John was lost, horribly lost. He had never been one to regret his decisions, instead preferring to fun away. But this was an exception. He regretted leaving the camp, not returning sooner. Here he was, wandering around in the dark. He couldn't see anything. The dark-haired man was helpless. 

The young man hadn't thought to bring any supplies with him. All that he had brought with him was the clothes on his back and his horse. No coat, no food, he didn't even have his tent or a way to start a fire. John was cold, tired, and hungry. It made him miss the stodgy tent that he had so enthusiastically ran away from. Hell, he even missed Ms. Grimshaw's sour face right about now. 

Howls sounded in the distance, wolves. Shudder ran through his body, fueled by fear and the cold. He did not like wolves, he despised them. After they had almost ripped him apart in the mountains, he maintained a special contempt for the beasts. In a way, the wolves reminded him of the gang. A group of vicious killers, fighting to survive. They were slowly losing their freedom to civilization, just as the outlaws were. They weren't all that different from one another. That didn't change his hatred of the creatures. It just brought a thought of comfort to him in his miserable status.

It had been dark for about an hour. John was unable to see anything. He couldn't even find his matches that were in his saddlebag so that he could see something other than darkness. The man hated this. He had never been bothered by the dark. So long as he could see something, he was okay. But tonight was a new moon, not even the moon was there to provide a smidgeon of light. The man's heart began to race. His thoughts ran wild, making up creatures in the dark. Said creatures stalked him, waiting for the right moment to pounce. However, Old Boy was calm. The animal stood patiently, seemingly without a single thought in his head. 

"At least one of us is calm," John mumbled, trying to take comfort in the calmness of his steed. 

The lost male failed. His thoughts had taken over, preventing even the momentary pleasure of distraction. The lack of sight had heightened his ability to hear things. He could still hear the calls of wolves, although farther off now. He could hear the sound of a small creek that softly ran. One sound deviated, however, from the typical sounds of nature. A single gunshot. The sound was faint, but still there. It rang through the air, surely several miles away. Why were they shooting? Why only one shot? It was unusual for someone to be out hunting this late. John debated raising his pistol from its spot in his holster. A shot in response could bring trouble, but it wasn't like he had much choice right now. 

"Please... Please let this work," the man softly prayed, despite not being a religious man.

John lifted the weapon from his hip before raising it in the air. His right index finger twitched against the trigger. Without giving himself to change his mind, he fired the pistol. The sound of the weapon being fired spooked the horse. Old Boy began to shift about nervously. Attempting to calm his steed, John whispered into his ear. The animal, soothed by his words of encouragement, calmed down. 

The dark-haired man hadn't heard a shot in return, so he raised his weapon once more. Pulling the trigger once more, he fired off another shot in hopes of someone coming to his rescue. Instead, he startled his horse once again. This time, however, the animal refused to calm himself. John was thrown from the back of his steed. Hitting the ground hard, the air was forced from his lungs. He could hear his horse's hoofbeats against the hard ground as he ran away. 

"Damn it! Damn it all! I should've never left camp," John cried out, frustrated with himself. 

The man just lies there, unable to bring himself to get up. Now, not only was he lost at night in an area he didn't know, but he was horseless and hurting. John almost preferred to be trapped on that ledge once again. At least then, he was able to see. He knew that wasn't true. Then, he had been sure he was going to die. Now, it just seemed like it. John knew he wouldn't die, but right now, it seemed like he would. The man closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. It seemed impossible. He just hoped that daylight would come soon, although he knew that it would be several hours. 

How, no why, had he been so stupid? What was wrong with him? He knew he should have waited until tomorrow. He knew it had been only hours from getting dark. Why had he allowed himself to wander off as far as he had? Swarms of thoughts ran through his head, each of which only emphasized to himself how much of an idiot he is. The sound of a horse galloping towards him brought him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes, confused. A harsh light shined in his eyes, earning a grouchy groan from the man. He sat up and looked towards whomever it was that had found him. 

It was Arthur! Never before had he been so happy to see the grouchy look on his face. He was so happy that someone had found him. John could have hugged him, but he restrained himself. The look on Arthur's face said enough. Although, his face slipped for a second. It appeared as if he was almost... Worried? John didn't have time to process that thought. Before he had even realized it, Arthur's angry gaze rested upon him once more. 

"You damned fool! Leaving camp like that! You knew you shouldn't have been out of camp! Why the hell, Martson?!" Arthur's annoyed voice boomed over the plains. 

"You're right... I know. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see your sour face, Morgan..." The younger man trailed off, his gaze fixated on his boots. 

His words must have caught the older man off guard because he suddenly became quiet. The silence between them was like fog, suffocating them. John dared not say anything for fear of making his friend even more angry with him. There was no excuse for his behavior other than pure, reckless, carelessness, and selfishness. He knew that. Now he knew just what a fool he really was. 

"Where's your horse?" Arthur finally broke the silence. 

"Ran off, startled when I shot," John stated. 

"Jesus, John" Arthur huffed, annoyed. 

John looked up towards the older man. His turquoise eyes shined in the light illuminated from the lantern. The man's dirty blonde facial hair appeared darker from the shadows outlining it. His freckles were barely visible. In this light, he seemed quite attractive. Well, more so than normal. The younger had to force himself to look away. What was this thumping in his chest and why was it there? He had never felt anything quite like it. Whatever it was though, he didn't mind it, for some reason. 

"Well... What now?" John asked. 

"Well, it's too late to try to head back to camp and there's still the matter of finding your damn horse," Arthur reminded. 

"Yeah... Guess we're stuck here for the time bein'," The dark-haired man chuckled dryly. 

Arthur dismounted his horse before making his way towards John. The other man would only look at him confused. However, his confusion was chased away when he was offered Arthur's canteen. John accepted, eagerly drinking the water inside. He took a few sips before returning it to the man in front of him. 

"Thank you, Arthur," John awkwardly said. 

He wasn't very good with words. He never had been. The only way he had ever been able to express himself was through actions. Angry? Screaming and killing everything in sight. Sad? Quiet and off to himself. In a good mood? Drinking until he passed out. He was a simple man. Impatient and hotheaded perhaps, but a simple man. Arthur was the opposite of the younger man. He could articulate his thoughts into words and spoke his mind. What he didn't feel like sharing with others, he wrote in his journal. Arthur kept his cool even when bullets were flying. Rarely did he ever lose his head. He transformed his anger into efficiency. He rarely ever went overboard when it came to drinking. He'd get drunk, sure. But he seldom blacked out from drinking. 

John admired the man for that. He was the man that he almost wished that he could be. Instead, he was himself. A man with no self-control and only half of the ability to think. He would never change, perhaps neither would Morgan. 

John watched Arthur return to his horse from his place on the ground. He decided to get up. Using his hands to balance himself, he forced himself from the ground. He continued to watch the older man's movements. What was he doing? Did he need something from his horse? He didn't know. Arthur had grabbed some of his camping gear from his horse before returning. Arthur tossed his pouch towards Marston. 

"Here, get yourself something to eat while I set up camp," Arthur ordered. 

John nodded his head in response. Digging through the pouch that had been tossed to him, he pulled out some dried meat. He didn't know quite what kind it was, beef perhaps? Right now, he couldn't care less. His stomach had been growling for hours. Closing the sack, he gently placed it down onto the ground. He took a bite of the tough meat, tearing it from the rest so that he could chew it. The slab of meat was salty, tasting a lot like some of the jerkies that could be bought from the Trapper. He had only ever bought any once because they were a bit expensive. They were well worth the price, however. 

By the time that he had finished the jerky, Arthur had the camp set up. It wasn't much, just a small fire with Arthur's bedroll and a spare blanket laid around it. The night was beginning to grow cold as spring nights did. Even Arthur appeared slightly bothered by the cool air. The breeze only made things worse, blowing against their backs. The only heat source was the small fire in front of them. They both sat there in silence, relishing in the small amount of heat that was provided. 

"Damn, it's cold," John shivered. 

The younger man noticed that Arthur sat silently. He hadn't said anything since he had tossed his bag to John. It was almost as if he was lost in thought. It wasn't an uncommon sight, he often sat silently when he had time to himself. He didn't want to disturb him. It wasn't any of his business, not to mention it would probably make him mad. These days, it seemed like everything John did only made Arthur hate him more. The man was almost like a mystery, no one ever knew what was going on in his head. The mysterious mind of Mister Morgan. That was part of the reason so many people yearned to peek into his journal. It would offer some insight into the man's mind. John almost scoffed at the thought. No one would ever look into the contents of that journal, not even after he was long gone. 

The silence was heavy over the pair. Neither really knew what to say or if they should say anything at all. They had been fighting for the last four years. Was there any coming back from that? Neither man knew. They were just tired of being mad at one another. It was time that they let it go. How could they do that? Did they even know how? 

"I know it was a dumb mistake, Arthur I-" He was cut off. 

"You had us all worried, John. Hell, even me I guess..." Arthur barely more than whispered. 

John couldn't believe his ears. Arthur had worried about him? Had he really carried that with him, after all this time? 

"I-I know, Arthur. I don't think there's anything I regret more than runnin' off on you guys... I'm so sorry," John swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to find the words to express how truly sorry he was. 

"Yeah, I know... I know..." Arthur muttered before getting up from his squatting position in front of the fire. 

John watched the older man. He had taken a few steps away from the fire, facing off into the darkness. What was he doing? It was freezing out there. John decided not to ask. When the man was ready, he'd come back. He always came back.


	6. A Fool's Gold PT 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's mind is scattered and his feelings run rampant.

Arthur's head was pounding. It had been a long, tiring day, and yet he was wide awake. The cold air brushed against his body. He was tempted to return to the warmth of the fire but resisted. He needed the time to think, to try to make some sense of the thoughts swimming in his head. He was confused, uncertain. It was just like when he had feelings for Mary. The man was letting him make a fool of himself. This couldn't be right, they were both men! That's just weird, unnatural. He was trying to listen to his head, but his heart refused to listen to reason. Reluctantly, he returned to the fire. He was still lost in his thoughts, but he didn't want to freeze to death. 

Arthur noticed John looking at him. He looked worried or maybe confused. The man couldn't tell. Reading people had never been his strong suit. He was much better at killing and robbing them. The dirty-blonde man could be charming when he wanted, but he preferred to be straightforward. But why was he dancing around this? He was suddenly uncertain about every thought he had ever had or every decision he had ever made. What was wrong with him? 

"Arthur?" John called gently, his voice filled with concern. 

"John," Arthur responded. 

The large man made his way over to the smaller male. He looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on his dark eyes. Step by step, he approached the other man. It was as if his body was on autopilot. He could only watch as his body acted on its own. He could feel the uncertainty pooling in his turquoise eyes. He was almost certain that John could see it. For once, he could clearly read the younger man. John's mind was just as muddled as he was. For the same reason? Not likely, but that didn't matter at that moment. Once he was close, the older man leaned in close to the other man. 

"You can punch me for what I'm about to do if ya' want," Arthur breathed heavily. 

"Arthur what are you talking ab-," John's words were cut off by Arthur's lips crashing against his own. 

This was it. Arthur's chapped lips had met with John's. His eyes fluttered shut. The younger man's lips were surprisingly soft. He wanted the kiss to last longer but instead forced himself to back off. As he ended the kiss, Arthur opened his eyes. The light-haired man had expected to be punched in the jaw and perhaps even yelled at by John's rough voice. Instead, the sight that greeted him was a flustered, dark-haired man. His cheeks were tinted pink with a darkening blush. 

"I... Wha-What?" John stuttered. 

"'m sorry, John. Just felt like kissin' you..." Arthur replied, unsure of what to say. 

Seeing John's face flustered and shocked, it had been almost cute. As cute as the outlaw could be, anyway. His heart pounded against his chest, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a young man. Not since he had been with Mary. But John brought a sense of youth about him. The man was idiotic and immature, always getting into trouble and then rescued by Arthur. It made him feel younger than his years. A small smile graced Arthur's face. The kiss had been a momentary pleasure, but the memory of John's face would last him forever. 

Arthur continued to watch the other man. He looked as if he was still processing what had happened. He had best give him some space, let him think about things. The light-haired man turned away and began to walk back to where he had sat earlier. There was a tug on his jacket as he tried to walk away. He looked behind him to see John's fist tightly holding onto the article of clothing. He was still blushing, but there was a look of determination in his eyes. Arthur watched him intently. 

"Don't... Don't go. Please." John asked quietly. 

The older man just nodded before returning to the younger. John's fist still held onto the jacket, but he was no longer pulling. He sat down beside the dark-haired man. Once he had sat down, John released his jacket. The younger man's dark eyes still gazed into his own turquoise eyes. It was as if he was attempting to stare into his soul. Arthur stared back into John's eyes. They were a dark shade of brown, appearing almost black. He had never noticed the way they shone in the light of the fire until now. His eyes were beautiful. 

John leaned towards Arthur. Arthur watched him, waiting for his next move. Once again, their lips met. This time, however, it was not a surprise for either party involved. The pair's lips moved against one another. Their eyes fluttered shut, allowing themselves to enjoy the feeling of the kiss. Arthur could feel John wrapping his arms around his neck. In return, he gently grasped his hips and pulled him closer to his body. He found pleasure in the feeling of John's smaller frame being pressed against him. He was soft yet muscular, tall yet he felt small in his arms. 

'I could get used to this feeling,' Arthur thought to himself. 

They broke apart for air. Both of the men opened their eyes and looked into the other's eyes. John had a light pink blush covering his cheeks. Looking the younger man up and down, the older of the pair drank in the sight before him. Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight of the other man. John was panting slightly, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He was a sight that could almost get Arthur drunk on the joy it brought. This moment, the one in which they were living in, that moment, was worth more than gold for them. 

The light-haired man held the other man close. He didn't want to let him go- not for anything. He knew he would have to eventually but not just yet. The younger man didn't appear to mind as he scooted closer to the larger. The warmth of their bodies radiated together. At that moment, they were both at peace. Their minds were calm, their bodies relaxed. It was a feeling of tranquillity in which they had never experienced. Neither man wanted it to end. 

They sat together, enjoying everything life had to offer. But a question burned in both of their minds. What now? Arthur wasn't sure. He doubted that any of the women-folk of the camp would say anything. The men of the gang, however... They were another story. They weren't all there, Micah and Lenny were scouting ahead. Sean still hadn't been found. The only man he trusted to not say anything was Hosea. He didn't really care if anyone said anything, but Dutch could be cruel at times. It would be best to hide their relationship, for the time being anyway. 

"What now?" John broke the silence. 

Arthur could hear the hesitation in his voice. He didn't really know himself. He had been thinking about it for the past half-hour, and nothing had come to mind. They would have to hide it at first, obviously. Could they really trust their campmates? They were like family, but if time had taught him anything, it was that family can be cruel. The man took a deep breath. Turning his head, he looked deep into John's eyes. They reminded him almost of a puppy. It made what he was about to say harder. 

"We can't let anyone in camp know about this... Hosea and the women, they wouldn't say much, if anything. The other guys... Well, this should be just between us," Arthur said reluctantly. 

He could see the hurt flash in John's eyes. Nonetheless, John nodded in agreement. They both hated this feeling, the feeling of having to hide how they truly felt. But it would be for the best. They couldn't risk something happening to the other over this. Both men were high ranking in the gang, more so Arthur. The gang tolerated Bill, mostly because everyone already knew and had suspected years ago that he was gay. There was no guarantee that they would be as accepting of the other two men. 

The silence hung over them like a cloud of fog. Neither male knew what to say. Arthur was fighting to stay awake, he had been up since dawn. He could feel John struggling as well. The pair needed to rest so that they could get an early start in the morning. John's horse was still missing. There was so little time that they had left until they would have to keep up the act. The older man rose from his spot beside John. He could feel John's eyes on him as he made his way to the bedroll and blanket that he had laid down. Moving both, he brought them closer to the fire. Not so close as to catch them on fire but enough that they would at least stay warm. 

"We should get some sleep. We've gotta find your horse first thing," Arthur reasoned, talking more to himself than John. 

Returning to his partner, Arthur grabbed the other male's hand. Pulling gently, he helped him to his feet before leading him to their new spot. Arthur, followed by John, sat down on the bedding he had provided. Side by side; the two males were content. John laid down first. Arthur laid down next. He was tempted to reach for John, but uncertainty held him tight. He didn't want to push his luck, but his arms felt empty without the smaller man in them. Maybe he should just go to sleep? That way, he wouldn't be thinking about it at least. 

Sleep didn't come easily. Everything that had happened that day ran through his mind; his trip to Valentine, looking for John, kissing him... It had been one of the best days he had experienced in years. Even Mary had never made him as happy as John has and it's only been a few hours. A warm, fuzzy feeling surrounded his heart. It felt amazing. That wonderful feeling was crushed by the realization that they would have to hide their newfound relationship. For the time being, anyway. 

Soft snores beside the large man brought him out of his thoughts. His partner was sound asleep. When he was awake, his rough voice was typically loud and angry. But, when he was sleep, it was soft and quiet. It was as if John was at peace with whatever plagued him while he was awake. He liked the loud and brash side of the younger man, but this side was almost cute. It reminded him of when they were younger. John was afraid of storms so he would crawl into Arthur's tent, in the process waking Arthur up. The young man would pull the child onto his cot and together they would fall back asleep. 

Reminiscing on old memories brought peace to the older male. They pulled him into a deep sleep. Finally, he was at peace. He was free. Free of his outlaw life, any and all worries, until morning came.


End file.
